Drownded
by French Pony
Summary: The story of the fate of Frodo Baggins' parents, Primula and Drogo Baggins, and what became of Frodo afterwards.
1. The Heart Has Its Reasons

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

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Foreword

Greetings! Welcome to the story. Before we begin, there are, as usual, some important announcements. The first is a warning. This story deals with some fairly dark and disturbing issues, including a suicide. There is nothing particularly gory or gruesome here, but the pitch will run fairly high. If, at any time, you feel that the story is getting to be too much for you, feel free to stop reading it and read something else. I will not be offended.

All right. With that out of the way, a little background. Tolkien describes the fate of Frodo's parents very briefly at the beginning of _The Fellowship of the Ring_, but doesn't offer much of an explanation, and the other characters don't seem to find what explanation is given especially credible. The implication is that the drownings were an accident; however, it is quite difficult to drown an adult in a boat. Most accidental fair-weather adult drownings are the unfortunate result of too much beer and horseplay, neither of which seem to have been much of a factor in this case. With that in mind, I asked myself a question which I usually ask myself no more than about five times a day -- "How did _that_ get _there_?" This story is the result.

The action takes place from roughly early September to mid-October in the year 1380 of the Shire Reckoning. Take care of yourself, enjoy it, and I will meet you at the end.

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1. The Heart Has Its Reasons

"Da! I'm home!" Frodo Baggins made his entrance with all of the flurry and noise of his eleven years. He slammed the door, shuffled his feet, kicked a ball, and crunched an apple. Drogo Baggins looked up from his mending and smiled. Frodo went through the knees of his breeches at an astonishing rate trying to keep up with the older lads. At least it gave Drogo plenty of opportunities to practice his mending skills. A few more patches, and he'd almost have Primula's knack for it. Much as he enjoyed his newfound skill, Drogo did wish that his wife would get well soon.

Frodo shuffled into the kitchen and reflexively sniffed the air. Every day, he arrived home after an afternoon in the orchards, or at the creek, or hanging around unwatched fields, and he hoped that this time he would smell gingerbread. Every day he hoped that his mother would be well again and baking his favorite treat. Every day he was disappointed. The kitchen was cold, and his mother still lay in her bed with her face turned to the wall, or sat idly in her armchair staring at her lap. It had been two months, but Frodo still held out a little hope. 

He returned to the sitting room and draped his arms over the back of Drogo's chair in the almost-embrace of a half-grown child. "Still the same, Da?" he asked.

"Still the same," Drogo sighed.

"When will she be better?"

Drogo set his mending down. "I don't know," he admitted. "But you've got to be patient a while longer. The midwife said it might last a season or two."

"It's not fair," Frodo said. "She's my Ma, too. Why doesn't she think of me sometimes, not just Bluebell?"

"A daughter is special to a woman, Frodo. You've got to give her some time. You're her firstborn, and you're special, too. She'll remember you in time. Just be patient." Drogo carefully bit off a thread. "There," he said. "That's done. Not as neatly as your Ma would do it, but serviceable enough, I'd say. I'll get supper started. Why don't you go outside and gather some of your sister's flowers for your mother?"

"Yes, Da." Frodo went out and around to the back garden. Beyond the vegetable patch and the herb garden, past the beehive, there was a small stone surrounded by pretty blue flowers. The flowers were fading, but the stone still looked as raw and out of place to Frodo as ever. He knelt by the stone and traced the letters carved there. "Bluebell Baggins, 1380," it read. Primula had been absolutely sure her late second child would be a girl, and had chosen the name months before the baby was due in high summer. She had sailed through the pregnancy, looking forward to her daughter with girlish anticipation, until the day she noticed that the child had ceased to move inside of her. 

Frodo had picked up on Primula's nervousness despite her attempts to stay outwardly cheerful in front of her son. Drogo had sent for the midwife, who arrived just after the noon dinner. The midwife had examined Primula and clucked sadly while doing so. She dosed Primula liberally with foul-smelling castor oil and hustled her away into the master bedroom. Drogo had sent Frodo out into the garden with strict orders not to return inside until he was called. Frodo had played outside all afternoon, then waited under the apple tree as the sun went down and the first stars began to appear. The moon had risen high in the sky, and Frodo had become quite angry at having been forgotten before Drogo had appeared at the door and called him. Frodo had seen his father's drawn face, and began to feel frightened for the first time.

Numbly, he had listened to Drogo's hushed explanation. The baby had been stillborn, the cord wrapped tightly around her neck. The midwife was in with Primula and poor Bluebell, and would allow Frodo to come in and see his sister if he wanted. He had gone in, and he had been terribly frightened by the emptiness he saw in his mother's face as she clutched the bundle that was his little sister's body. Drogo had buried Bluebell and arranged a stone for her, and Frodo had planted flowering bluebells around the grave.

There weren't many left this late in the year, but Frodo gathered the last of the fresh ones and added some late roses to the bouquet. When he thought the bunch of flowers was big enough, he brought it inside and arranged it neatly in an old jam jar full of water. Drogo examined the bouquet and pronounced it acceptable, and Frodo carefully carried it into the bedroom.

Primula sat in her armchair by the fire, dressed in a nightgown and wrapped in a light shawl. A clean, faded old quilt covered her lap. Her hands, which before had always been full of knitting or mending, lay idly folded, and she stared dully at the fire. Her hair fell in long tangles about her face. Frodo set the bouquet on the night table and went to his mother. He smoothed the rough hair back from her face and kissed her.

"I brought you some flowers, Ma," he said. "The baby's flowers, bluebells. They'll make the room pretty for you. Please come back soon, Ma. I miss you." He put his arms around Primula, kissed her again, and went back to the kitchen.

Drogo set down two plates of sausages, beans and carrots, all boiled until they were more or less tender. Frodo poked at his food. Drogo tried, but cooking had never been among his talents, and the years of marriage to Primula had eroded his already dubious skills. The food he had produced since Primula's withdrawal was nourishing but hardly inspired. Frodo sighed and munched a mouthful of carrots.

"Why can't we have stuffed peppers again, Da?" he asked. "Couldn't you make those one night?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea how to stuff a pepper," Drogo said shortly. "That was your mother's job."

Frodo sighed and stirred his beans and carrots together. "I'm tired of boiled dinners," he said.

"Why don't you learn to make something else, then?" Drogo asked. "I'm sure Esme would teach you, or what's her name? Merimac's wife?"

"Nina," Frodo supplied. "Not her. She's always got Berry hanging around. He'd get in the way. He's just a baby."

"Well," said Drogo, "I can see why you wouldn't want Nina to teach you. But what about Esme? She hasn't got any babies to distract you."

Frodo scowled. The idea of learning to cook appealed to him on a certain level. It might be fun, and it did offer the promise of better things to eat. But the thought of good food alone wasn't enough to cheer him. What he really wanted was someone to cook the good food for him and inspect his hands with a motherly thoroughness before he ate it. Frodo tried to remember to wash his hands, but sometimes he forgot, and Drogo sometimes forgot to ask. Frodo mushed some beans and carrots together with his fork.

"I'll think about it," he said.

Drogo smiled. "After you learn to cook, you could teach me," he suggested. "To tell you the truth, I'm getting tired of boiled dinner, too."

Frodo looked up. "Really, Da?" he asked.

"Really. My stars, boy, I've been eating your mother's cooking longer than you have. I'll bet I miss it more than you do."

Frodo giggled. "Bet you don't," he said happily. Suddenly, cooking didn't look so bad. Perhaps he would ask Esme when he went up to the Hall the next day to play with Cady.

Alone in the bedroom, Primula slowly looked up from the hypnotic dancing flames in the fireplace and listened to the faint voices of her husband and her son. She heard their laughter as they discussed their plans, and she made a decision.

Frodo spent the next day playing with his tweenaged Brandybuck cousins. Uncle Dino's youngest son Cady had been Frodo's idol ever since Frodo was big enough to toddle, and Cady had never seemed to mind having his little cousin tag along in his games. Today, Cady and his friends had taken Frodo to a nearby pasture where ponies grazed, and they had spent the entire day trying to catch and ride the ponies bareback around the field. The ponies were hard to catch and harder to stay on, but Frodo had managed a few thrilling gallops. By the time the boys trudged back to Brandy Hall, Frodo was tired and sore, but still glowing with the excitement.

He waved goodbye to Cady and was just setting off down the path to his own house when he remembered that he had something to ask. "Cady!" he called, trotting back to the door. "Is Esme at home? I want to ask her something."

"She ought to be," Cady said. "Why don't you come in and sit on the bench while I look for her? You'd better wipe your feet on the mat," he added, looking at Frodo's mud-spattered legs. Frodo obediently wiped the worst of the mud off and knelt on the bench in the anteroom. He was inspecting Uncle Rory's curiosity cabinet, an item that never failed to fascinate him, when Esmeralda Brandybuck walked in, wiping her hands on her apron.

"The little brass candlesticks are my favorites," she said. "They're dwarf-work, and there's none like them around here."

Frodo turned around and climbed off the bench. "Hello, Esme," he said. 

"Cady said you wanted to ask me something."

"Esme," Frodo began shyly. "Would you -- I mean, you know how my mother is now, and Da, well, he's kind and he tries, but -- Esme, do you think you could show me how to cook?"

"How to cook what?" Esme asked, surprised.

"Everything." As Esme continued to look puzzled, Frodo elaborated. "My Da tries to cook, I know he does, but the only thing he knows how to make is boiled dinner, and I'm getting so tired of that, and so is he. He said I could learn to cook, and then I could teach him, and then we could have good food again, just like we had before -- before. . . " his voice trailed off.

Understanding dawned in Esme and brought with it a flood of pity. "Oh, Frodo," she said. "Of course I'll teach you how to cook. My goodness, what were we all thinking, poor Primula still out of sorts and only you and your father to take care of each other. I'll teach you how to cook whatever you want."

"Can we start today?" Visions of stuffed peppers danced in Frodo's head.

"We'll start tomorrow," Esme promised. "It's late, and you're tired and dirty. But I'll tell you what. I'll send you home with a right big covered dish. All you and your father have to do is put it in the oven and warm it up."

"We won't be eating your supper, will we?" Frodo asked anxiously.

"Oh, no," Esme assured him. "No, I was making chicken pies today, and I had enough pastry for an extra one. I was going to save it to pop in the oven tomorrow, but I'll send it home with you instead. You can help me make its replacement tomorrow."

"Chicken pie!" Frodo clapped his hands. Life was looking better already.

The chicken pie was delicious, and both Frodo and Drogo were in high spirits after their grand supper. Frodo chattered all through supper about his cooking lessons, and spun wild fantasies of elaborate dishes which he intended to prepare. Drogo laughed, and as he cleared the dishes away he ruffled Frodo's hair. 

"Go tell your mother all your plans while I wash up," he said.

Frodo skipped into the bedroom, plopped himself down on the bed, and launched into his tale a second time. Halfway through, he became aware that something had changed, and he stopped talking in mid-sentence.

Primula had turned her head and was looking straight at him instead of staring at the floor or the fire or the wall as she had for the past two months. Overjoyed, Frodo ran to throw his arms around his mother and kiss her.

"You'll see, Ma, I'll be a real good cook," he promised her. "If you get better, I'll cook your favorite things for you to eat. You'll see. I'll take such good care of you, Ma."

Primula rewarded her son with her first smile in two months before slipping back into impassivity again. Frodo kissed her again before letting out a loud whoop and running to find Drogo.

The weeks that followed remained infused with a golden haze in Frodo's memory. Esme kept her promise to him, and every day, Frodo stood at her elbow and helped her cook, plain food, but nourishing and tasty. The first day he watched, but Esme soon had him chopping vegetables, stirring sauces and rolling pastry. Every day, Frodo carried home a dish that he had had a hand in making.

As his cooking skills grew, so too did Primula begin to emerge from her shell. She did not transform instantly into the strong, loving mother Frodo had known, but she did improve slowly. She began to talk again, and brush her hair, which glowed brown in the lamp light. One day, Frodo carried home a mushroom barley soup he had made all by himself and found Primula nicely dressed and ready to eat supper at the table with her husband and son. 

The highlight of this golden time was Frodo's twelfth birthday. Esme baked him a cake, and a package arrived by post from his cousin Bilbo off in Hobbiton. Bilbo shared Frodo's birthday, and had been sending him marvelous presents for as long as Frodo could remember. In return, Frodo had always sent something small, usually strange childish drawings or oddly shaped clay pots. This year he had sent a box of small ginger cakes, carefully wrapped so as not to spoil, that he had baked with Esme's help. Bilbo's package contained a curved disc of glass set in a frame with a handle. When Frodo looked at things through the glass, they looked much larger, and he could see fine details he had never seen before.

He played with the glass most of the evening after supper, inspecting the rug, the portraits on the wall, the candlesticks and Drogo's bald spot until Primula announced haltingly that it was high time for him to be in bed. Frodo carefully laid the magnifying glass in its velvet-lined box and kissed his mother good night. She put her arms around him awkwardly, but soon tightened them into a real hug. "Good night, my great big darling boy," she said softly.

The next day, when Frodo went to see Esme, she filled his pockets with apples and sent him out to play with Cady. "You've learned most of what I can teach you," she explained. "You should start practicing on your own now. Besides, there's the big do coming up, and I won't have time to teach you for a while."

"What big do?" Frodo asked. 

Esme smiled mysteriously. "I imagine you'll be hearing about it soon enough," she told him. "Now, why don't you bring this jug of cider out to Cady and the lads and play with them for a while. You won't get many more chances, for it'll be cold before you know it." 

Frodo took the jug and skipped out the door to find his cousin. He was sorry to lose the attention from Esme, but he hadn't seen Cady for a while, and he wanted to show off his present from Bilbo. Frodo was willing to bet any amount of hazelnuts that none of Cady's friends had such a clever glass to look at things with.

Cady was indeed as impressed as Frodo had hoped, and the group spent much of the day catching insects and plucking leaves and flowers and examining them under the glass. When Frodo arrived home that evening, he was covered in mud from the creek bed. Drogo marched him firmly around to the back of the house and dumped several pails of water on him before allowing him inside.

As Frodo was cleaning the glass and packing it away in its box, he noticed a heavy, cream-colored envelope with a gold wax seal lying on Drogo's desk. "What's that, Da?" he asked.

"That came by post today," Drogo said. "We've been invited to Brandy Hall in a fortnight for a party."

"That must be the do that Esme told me about," Frodo said. "What's the party for?"

Drogo smiled. "Do you remember your cousin Milo Burrows?" he asked. Frodo nodded. The Burrowses lived rather far away in Pincup, but Frodo remembered fondly a few holidays spent there when he was little. "Well," Drogo said, "Milo will be coming of age in two weeks, and he's to be betrothed to Miss Peony Baggins of Hobbiton that same night."

"Peony Baggins?" Frodo asked. "Is she related to us?"

"Let me think," Drogo said. He turned his eyes to the ceiling and counted on his fingers for a moment. "Ah," he said at last. "I have it. She's third cousin to you, through old Cousin Posco. Your mother will be pleased. I think Milo was always her favorite nephew."

Primula did indeed seem pleased by the news. "Milo will be grown up and starting a family of his own," she said. "I have so wanted to see that. I remember when he was just learning to walk." She smiled a gentle, mysterious smile.

Frodo settled down on the floor with a piece of scrap paper and some charcoal and began to sketch idly. He drew Primula and Drogo sitting together by the lamp and he hummed a little as he made plans for the next day. He and Cady could go to the creek again and make toy boats out of leaves and sail them down the creek all the way to the place where the creek met the Brandywine River. And if he was careful to come home early enough, he could cook something grand for supper. And, of course, there was the great "do" at Brandy Hall to look forward to. 

Just the thought of the party made him smile. There would be food, music, presents and dancing, and Frodo would be allowed to stay up well into the night. But best of all, the party would make his mother happy again. Frodo wiggled with joy at that thought. He considered the portrait he was drawing and added a smile to Primula's face.


	2. Which Reason Knows Nothing Of

**Which Reason Knows Nothing Of **

The night before the great party, Drogo, Primula and Frodo had all bathed in the old copper tub. Primula had carefully laid out her best green challis dress with the cream-colored lace edging the basque. Frodo struggled into his best wool trousers and embroidered waistcoat while Drogo brushed out his wife's hair. Primula braided a thin green ribbon through her front hair while leaving the bulk of her soft brown curls to cascade down her back. When Primula sailed into the sitting room in her party finery, Frodo thought she was the most beautiful Hobbit ever.

Primula's eyes shone as she took Drogo's arm. Frodo took her other hand, and together they left their house and walked up the road toward Brandy Hall. As they rounded the curve, they could see the old smial all lit up from the inside, and they could hear music and laughter. Frodo gave Primula's hand a tug and skipped ahead, eager to get to the party.

Milo Burrows and Rorimac Brandybuck were at the door to greet guests, both dressed in fine brocaded waistcoats and grinning from ear to ear. Uncle Rory pinched Frodo's cheek, but Frodo was too excited to mind. Milo clapped him on the shoulder and presented him with a long square whistle with four holes in it. He showed Frodo how to wrap his mouth around the whole end of the whistle and blow four notes at once. Frodo took a deep breath and blew a shrill chord. Drogo rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

"Milo, whatever were you thinking by giving him that?" he asked. "I suppose I'll be hearing it around the house for the next three weeks. He's already poking into everything with that glass Bilbo sent him --"

"Did I hear someone take my name in vain?" a voice called from the next room.

"Bilbo!" Frodo scurried over to greet his most astonishing cousin. "Oh, Bilbo, thank you ever so much for the glass! I can see all sorts of things with it. Bilbo, will you be telling stories tonight about the dragon?"

"One thing at a time, Frodo!" Drogo called. "Let Bilbo have a chance to catch his breath."

"Don't worry about a thing, Drogo, old boy," Bilbo laughed. "I most certainly will tell some stories," he told Frodo. "After all, someone's got to keep you young ones entertained between courses of the feast, hmm?"

Primula greeted Milo with a long, tight embrace. "Congratulations, darling," she said. "Look at you, all grown up and about to be betrothed to such a beautiful young lady. I wish you and Peony all the best."

"Thank you, Auntie Primula," Milo said. "This is for you. I looked around for something special for my favorite aunt." He placed a small package in her hand. She opened it to find a beautiful enameled brooch in the shape of a yellow rose. Primula smiled a soft, glowing smile at Milo as she pinned the brooch to her shoulder.

"Frodo!" Esme came running from the kitchen. "Just the Hobbit I was looking for. Frodo, how would you like to help me bring the food out to the tables?"

"Yes, please!" Frodo said.

"Frodo's become quite the little cook," Esme told Bilbo.

"Has he now? Well, maybe one day he can come to Bag End and cook a little for me," Bilbo said happily. "All Hobbit lads should know how to cook a good meal." Esme laughed and steered Frodo through the gathering crowd to the kitchen.

The dinner was every bit as rich and grand as Esme had promised. Frodo carried dish after dish to the long serving tables. After the last dish had been laid out, the feasting began. Frodo filled his plate with mashed turnips, nutty sprouts, sour pickles, crusty hot rolls and a big scoop of chicken salad. He put an apple and a pear into his pockets and raced to find a seat next to Bilbo. The children crowded close and ate their food listening to Bilbo telling fantastic stories about Elves and Wizards and enormous men who turned into bears. Most of the Brandy Hall children were familiar with the tales, as were the children from Hobbiton, but there was a sizeable contingent of Burrows children from Pincup who were hearing Bilbo's tales for the very first time, and their eyes were absolutely round with amazement.

Every now and again, Bilbo would pause and turn his attention to his own plate. Frodo would quickly look through the crowd for his parents. Drogo and Primula appeared content. Drogo carefully made sure that Primula's plate was always full of her favorite foods, for Primula had grown painfully thin during her long months of withdrawal. Her appetite had not yet returned fully, but Drogo continued to tempt her with delicacies, and Frodo could see that his mother was making an effort to eat. Esme flitted from table to table making things lively, and his Aunt Menegilda presided graciously over the whole affair. With a wiggle of contentment, Frodo turned his attention back to Bilbo, who was telling about the great dragon Smaug.

". . . and then I crept into his hall, and there he was! As big as a house, he was, fast asleep on top of a great mound of treasure."

"What kind of treasure?" one of the children asked.

"Oh, jewels and gold and silver, armor and crowns and cups, and all sorts of things," Bilbo said. "In fact, you'll see some of that treasure with your own eyes tonight."

"Where is it?" asked a very small Burrows child, leaping onto Bilbo's lap as if under the impression that he had a dragon's hoard tucked away in his pocket. Bilbo laughed and set the child down.

"Well," he said, "Milo's birthday cake should be arriving shortly from the kitchen. Somewhere in that cake is a gold coin straight from Smaug's hoard. So let's all go and see who gets the lucky piece of cake, eh?"

The crowd of children needed no more encouragement. As the cake was brought in, frosted a glittering white with roses and leaves and a large "M" all done in sugar, they cheered and crowded around, along with the adults. Milo blushed as he began to cut pieces from that wonderful cake and hand them around. Frodo hoped his mother would be the one to get the lucky gold coin, sure that it would help her become her old self again. 

Suddenly there was a great shout. Peony had pulled the coin from the slice of cake that Milo had given her and was staring at it open-mouthed in astonishment. She looked so funny that Frodo could not help clapping along with everyone else, even though Primula had not been the lucky one.

After the cake had been eaten, the adults started moving the tables and chairs to the side, and a small orchestra began to set up in a corner. There was to be a dance for the adults. Cady Brandybuck herded Frodo and the rest of the children into another large room nearby where they could play without disturbing the dance. Bilbo came along and settled down in a corner. The smallest children followed him, and he was soon holding court again, telling more tales of adventure. The older children, led by Cady, were soon absorbed by elaborate games of Tag.

In the dance hall, Primula and Drogo sat to the side and watched the circles of brightly dressed Hobbits swirling and stamping, bowing and turning. As they watched, Asphodel Brandybuck Burrows glided over to her little sister.

"Thank you so much for coming, Primmy," she said. "I know how hard it must be for you to be celebrating right now. It means ever so much to Milo to have you here."

"Oh, Del," Primula said, tears shining behind her smile. "I know you'd do the same for Frodo. Family has to stick together."

"Right you are, Pretty Primmy," Asphodel said. "And if I'm spared till then, why, you can be sure I'll be out there dancing at Frodo's coming-of-age party."

"Speaking of dancing," Drogo said, "They're starting up the Springle-Ring. Mistress Primula Baggins, may I have this dance?"

Primula hugged her sister tightly and then took Drogo's hand. They found a spot near the edge of the dance floor where they wouldn't be in the way of the younger, spryer couples. The orchestra struck up one of the more popular tunes for the Springle-Ring, and Primula and Drogo started to dance. 

Drogo was surprised and delighted to see Primula dancing with all the energy and flair of the first years of their marriage. As he swung her through the steps of the dance, he was sure she had never been so beautiful. Her cheeks were pink, the lamplight glowed on her hair, and her eyes glittered. Drogo decided that he wanted to remember every bit of this night. He would have to send Milo and Peony an extra-special wedding present for having this party that had brought his Primula back to him.

The music ended, and Drogo bowed to his lady. The orchestra leader played a few bars of a new tune and called "Take partners, take partners all around for Lady Chubb's Fancy!" Drogo smiled and took Primula's hand and led her to the very top of the dance. He had fallen in love with her watching her lead that dance at another party long ago, and it had been the first dance at their wedding. It would be the perfect crown to the evening to see her lead it again. The music started, and Primula proved to be in top form, weaving her way adroitly through the complicated figures of the dance.

When the dance ended with bow and curtsey, Drogo was slightly winded, and he and Primula left the dance floor. The orchestra leader announced "The Respectable Gentleman," and Milo and Peony stepped in to take the lead. Primula and Drogo watched the dancers for a while, admiring Peony's grace and Milo's skill. "They look so beautiful together," Primula said softly.

"I think it's getting a bit close in here," Drogo told her. "Let's go outside for a sniff of air. There won't be many warm evenings left in the year." Primula took his arm and they left the dance hall. They stopped by the playroom, attracted by the shrieks of excited children.

Cady had organized the older children into a game of "Sink The Black Ship." Several children had been tagged and sat on the floor waiting to trap others. Cady stood in the center of the room and called "Sink the black ship!" The remaining children raced across the room, trying to evade tags from Cady and from the children on the floor. As Primula and Drogo watched, Frodo skittered across the floor, twisting away from a seated cousin and ducking under Cady's tag to end safe at the other side of the room. He turned and saw his parents peeking in.

"Did you see that, Ma?" he cried. "I got through, Da! Look at me!" He waved briefly at them before Cady called "Sink the black ship!" again, and then he was off and running.

Primula and Drogo watched for a minute more, and then continued outside into the clear, cool evening. An enormous, golden harvest moon sailed in the sky above them and the moonlight sparkled on the rippling water of the Brandywine River. They walked along the riverbank for a while in silence. Every now and then, Primula would stoop to pick up a pretty pebble and put it in one of the pockets of her dress. Drogo found a few well-shaped stones and pitched them into the water.

Slowly, their meanderings brought them to the small dock where fishing and pleasure boats were kept. Primula's breath caught in her throat when she saw them. "Drogo," she said in a hushed voice, "the moonlight's so pretty on the water. Let's take one of the boats out for a while. Just like when we were courting, do you remember?"

Drogo remembered indeed those long-ago nights when Primula had taught him to row a boat. He had been terrified to step onto the dock, let alone get in the boat and try to propel it around the river, but Primula loved boating, and stars above, he would get in a boat for her. She had laughed at him a little for being so scared, but she had not meant it unkindly, and she had been a gentle and patient teacher. By the time they were married, Drogo had taken Primula for several romantic evenings on the privacy of the river. If she wished to go on the river again tonight, then she would have that wish.

On the dock, Primula selected a small pleasure dinghy with a blanket and pillows neatly folded under the stern seat. Drogo handed her into the boat and then climbed in himself. Primula loosed the mooring rope, and Drogo slid the oars into the oarlocks and pushed off from the dock.

"Gotcha!" Cady reached out with a long arm and swiped Frodo's shoulder. Frodo laughed and sat down on the floor, ready to catch other unwary runners.

Drogo hadn't rowed a boat in a while, but the feathering rhythm soon came back to him. For a while, the only sound was of the oars gently splashing. Primula sat in the stern, trailing her fingers in the water. She looked pensive, and Drogo supposed she was worn out from the excitement of the party. It had been a good idea to take her outside for some quiet time, he decided.

The orchestra ended "The Respectable Gentleman" with a flourish, and as Peony curtsied, Milo planted a kiss on her mouth. Peony eagerly returned the kiss. Milo caught a glimpse of the golden moon, and it suddenly occurred to him that what he and Peony needed just then was a private stroll in the moonlight.

Cady tagged one of his cousins, leaving a rangy young Burrows lad as the winner of the game. "Everybody up, we'll play again!" he called. "Carlo Burrows is It." The children scurried to the far end of the room, and Carlo stood in the middle. With a cry of "Sink the black ship!" the children were running again.

Drogo was absorbed in the fluid motions of rowing and began to sing an old love song. Primula watched him with large, solemn eyes. One of the things he loved about her was that she had never minded his inability to carry a tune.

"Sink the black ship!" Frodo squealed with laughter as he dodged and twisted, arriving safely at the other side of the room. Cady was tagged and sat down with a surprised "Oof!" Bilbo chuckled at the older children's antics and turned his attention back to his audience of mesmerized youngsters.

Milo and Peony could hear another dance beginning as they walked down the front path of Brandy Hall. They stopped under an apple tree, the last fruit still clinging to its branches, and continued where they had left off after their dance.

Drogo could feel his eyes closing. He was no longer young, and the efforts of dancing and rowing had tired him more than he would care to admit. The night was perfect, the moon was shining, Primula was so beautiful, and the rocking of the boat was hypnotic. Without quite meaning to, he slipped into a gentle doze.

Frodo and Violet Brandybuck charged Carlo Burrows together, then split at the last moment and peeled off in opposite directions. Carlo caught one of the flying streamers from Violet's dress, and she sat down, breathless. Only Frodo and one other child were left standing.

Primula sat in the stern of the dinghy, her head in her hands, trying to find the resolve to carry out her plan. Somewhere deep inside, a nagging voice was telling her it was wrong, it was wicked, that she would never be forgiven. She suppressed the voice, reminding herself sternly of the choice she had made, and all of her preparation. Frodo was learning to take care of himself and Drogo, and she had seen his birthday and Milo's coming of age. She had made the effort at the party to give Drogo a wonderful evening to remember her by, feasting and dancing in her best dress, and a stroll by the river in the moonlight. She fingered the stones in her pockets and hoped she had enough.

Soon she would be with Bluebell, the daughter she had known only with the peculiar intimacy of a mother. As she had watched Drogo put Bluebell into the ground, the unfairness of the situation had begun to eat away at her. It was as she had told Del; family must stick together. It would break her heart to leave Frodo behind, but after all, he had Drogo and Cady and all of the numerous aunts and uncles and cousins in Brandy Hall, and another set in Hobbiton. Bluebell should have someone, too, and Primula would be that someone.

"Sink the black ship!" Frodo and the other child charged. Carlo tagged the other child and came after Frodo. Frodo found himself trapped between Cady on the floor and Carlo, running to tag him. Gathering all his strength, he took a flying leap right over Cady's head to land safe at the far end of the room, winning the game.

With one smooth movement, Primula threw herself over the side of the boat, willing herself not to fight the shock of the cold water. The splash and the sudden rocking of the boat woke Drogo from his doze. He stared at the stern of the boat, suddenly empty, and he realized that Primula must have fallen overboard. Fighting down his panic, he leaned over the side of the boat.

"Primula!" he called. "Primula, where are you? Help! Someone, she's fallen in! Primula!" By the light of the moon, he thought he saw a little white hand sinking fast in the river. Drogo reached in, but he could not reach the hand. An idea struck him, and he grabbed an oar and lowered it into the water, fishing desperately for his wife. In his panic, he almost failed to notice the sudden heaviness as the blade of the oar caught Primula's dress. He called louder for help as he tried to lever Primula out of the water. The boat rocked beneath him wildly.

Peony suddenly stiffened in Milo's arms. "Did you hear something?" she asked. "Someone shouting."

Milo frowned. Now that he concentrated, he could just make out faint cries. "It's coming from the river," he said. "We should go and see what's wrong." Milo and Peony carefully made their way over the uneven ground toward the riverbank.

With a desperate effort, Drogo had managed to raise Primula to the surface. Supported by the oar, she bobbed gently face down. Drogo extended a trembling hand out over the side of the boat, stretching as far as he could, trying to grasp Primula's floating dress and haul her in. Terror surged through him and loosened his aging joints. His arm shot forward. Just as his grasping fingers closed around the sodden fabric of her dress, Drogo felt the boat kick and slide away as it capsized, dumping him into the cold Brandywine River. He made a desperate grab and caught Primula around the waist just as the water closed over his head.

A thrashing kick brought Drogo's head back above water, and one flailing arm hooked over the raised keel of the boat. Holding the boat with one arm and Primula with the other, Drogo screamed.

Milo's breath caught in his throat at what he saw. His Uncle Drogo was clinging precariously to a capsized boat, and the wet, limp bundle he held could only be Primula. He jerked Peony's hand and raced towards the dock. "Uncle Drogo!" he called. "Aunt Primula!"

"Help us!" Drogo cried, his voice carrying thin and clear across the water. "I can't hold the boat much longer!"

"We need help," Milo said. "Peony, go back to the Hall. Get my father, get Uncle Rory, get Saradoc, get somebody, please!" Without a word, Peony turned and ran back. Milo looked around and saw a coil of rope in one of the boats. He picked up an end and tossed it to Drogo. The heavy rope fell far short and landed in the water with a splash. Grimly, Milo pulled the end back and tossed it out again. Again it landed short. Milo stepped closer to the edge of the dock and made a third toss.


	3. The Eternal Silence

**The Eternal Silence **

Her heart pounding in her throat, Peony ran up the hill and crashed through the door of Brandy Hall, nearly plowing down Esme and Saradoc. Saradoc caught her by the arms and stopped her headlong flight.

"Whoa there, Peony," he said. "What's your rush? Is something wrong?"

"Yes. . . it's. . . it's. . . " Peony struggled to catch her breath. "Milo sent me back. . . We need help. . . down at the dock. . . "

"What?" Saradoc asked. "Is Milo in trouble?"

"Drogo," Peony said. "And Primula. Drowning. Get Mr. Rory and Mr. Rufus, quickly!"

Saradoc's jaw tightened. "Esme," he said. "Find Frodo and keep him quiet. I'll get Da and Merimac and Uncle Rufus." He turned and ran toward the dance hall.

Esme and Peony hurried into the playroom. Peony ran to Bilbo and boldly tapped his shoulder in the middle of his story. When she had his attention, she whispered the situation in his ear.

Esme pulled Cady out into the hall. "Cady," she told him, "there's an emergency. Primula and Drogo Baggins are in serious trouble down at the river. The men are getting a party together to go rescue them. You've got to keep Frodo here, or else he'll go running after them and get in the way. Keep him busy and distracted. He's not to know that there's an emergency at all until it's over. Keep all the children busy, and don't let them out of the room. Can you do that for us?"

The color drained from Cady's face, but he nodded smartly and marched back into the playroom. "New game, everyone!" he called. "Everyone needs a pocket handkerchief."

Saradoc made his way through the crowd in the dance hall. The adults were taking an interval between dances and stood in small groups talking and nibbling dainties from the refreshment tables. Saradoc saw his younger brother Merimac with Nina in a corner. He elbowed his way over to his brother.

"Mer," he said softly, "I need you to help find Da and Uncle Rufus. Peony says there's trouble down at the dock. Uncle Drogo and Aunt Primula need help. We need to get to them, and we can't cause a panic here."

Merimac nodded, handed his plate to Nina, and set off toward the musicians' dais where Rufus Burrows was quietly negotiating fees. Saradoc spotted his parents holding court at the far end of the room. As politely as he could, he disengaged them from the guests and explained the situation. At the news that his youngest sister was in danger, all of the party gaiety vanished from Rory. He looked over the crowd and signaled to Rufus and Merimac. Menegilda gathered herself regally.

"Go get them," she said. "I'll tell your brothers and sisters and keep the party going here." With that, she took up a tray of little pear tarts and began to offer them around the room, making serene and pleasant conversation as she did so. Rufus, Rory, Saradoc and Merimac met in the entryway and hurried out to the dock.

Drogo and Primula were indeed in serious trouble. Drogo was slowly tiring as the water chilled him to the core. It was getting harder and harder to hold on to both the overturned boat and Primula, but he was struggling valiantly. Milo was soaked and shivering, having thrown the rope several more times. He had gotten it fairly close to Drogo, but Drogo either would not or could not let go of the boat to grab the rope. Milo had begun to aim his throws toward the boat but been having less and less effect as he had grown colder and wetter. He was still trying to make the toss when the others arrived.

Rufus ran to his son and began to rub life back into his arms. "Rory!" he called. "Milo's freezing. Do you have blankets?"

"In a chest on board the second boat from the left," Rory said. Rufus pulled out a blanket and wrapped it around Milo, then laid out two more ready for Primula and Drogo when they were rescued. Rory took the situation in and made a plan. "Sar, Mer," he said to his sons, "I want you two to row another boat out and get them into it. Come straight back to the dock when you've got them. And be careful of the current. The tide's going out, and it's running strong. Take a rope with you in the boat, and I'll fasten another one onto your stern and pay that out from the dock in case you need another line."

Saradoc and Merimac nodded and went to the closest boat at the dock. There was a coil of rope in the bottom, and Merimac took another coil from a neighboring boat. He fastened one end to an iron ring in the stern. Saradoc shoved the oars out and pushed off from the dock. With powerful strokes, he began to row cross-stream.

The children in the playroom were exhausted from the late hour and all the running games that Cady had made them play. Some of the smaller ones had gone to listen to Bilbo's stories, but even the older ones were starting to whine and complain.

"Why can't we leave, Cady?" Violet asked. "I don't want to play any more. I want to go see my Ma."

"The grownups' party isn't over yet," Cady told her. "Your Ma won't want to see you now." Immediately, he regretted his choice of phrasing. Violet burst into tears.

"You're mean, Cady!" she wailed. "My Ma does too want to see me." She made a lunge for the door, but Cady grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the playroom.

"Cady, I want something to eat," Frodo said. "All that running around made me hungry. Can I just go get a cake? I'll come right back, promise. And I won't bother the party."

"I'm hungry, too!" Violet said.

"And me!" a Baggins child from Hobbiton chimed in. Cady was suddenly at the center of a mob of children begging him to let them go get "just one cake." He backed toward the door, trying to keep them in the playroom.

"I'll go," he said. "I'll get a big tray of food and bring it back, and we can all eat it together in here." Mollified by the promise of treats, the children backed away, and Cady escaped into the hall. He ran to the dance hall, found Menegilda and tugged urgently on her sleeve.

"Please, Aunt Gilda, you've got to help me," he said. "The children are trying to get out, and there's so many of them. I don't know if I can control them much longer. I have to get a tray of food for them. I can't keep them quiet much longer."

Menegilda nodded and signaled to Esme. "Esme, find a tray of sandwiches for Cady to bring to the playroom," she ordered. "Then take Peony and Nina and bring as much spare bedding into the playroom as you can find."

Esme pushed a tray of sandwiches into Cady's hands. He took the tray gratefully and returned to the playroom. Eager hands snatched the sandwiches, and the complaining was hushed for a while. Cady sat down, relieved.

"Cady," Frodo said through a mouthful of sandwich, "Is my Ma still happy? I just want to make sure she's all right. She was awful sick, you know."

Cady opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn't lie, but it was hard to answer without telling Frodo anything. Finally, he settled on the bare bones of the truth. "I didn't see your Ma, Frodo," he said. "I just ran in for the sandwiches." He was saved from further explanation when Menegilda marched into the room, followed by Esme and Peony and Nina bearing mounds of pillows and blankets.

"All right," she said imperiously. "It's gotten dreadfully late, and I'm sure you're all quite overtired. Bedtime for all children." Esme and Peony and Nina started spreading the bedding around. Bilbo eased the littlest ones off of his lap and moved to help them. "If you're good and don't make a fuss about bedtime, Bilbo will tell you another story before you go to sleep," Menegilda added.

The children seemed excited about getting to sleep all together on the floor and quickly tucked themselves in. Bilbo began to tell a story all about camping with Dwarves outside at night. One by one, the children drowsed off to sleep. The adults and Cady shared worried glances. They wished that the rescue would be over soon.

Drogo had long ago lost feeling in his arms. He knew he was still holding the boat because his head was still above water, and if he looked down, he could still see Primula's limp body clutched in his other arm. He wondered vaguely if she was still alive, but that hope seemed far away and faint to his numbed mind. He and Primula and the boat drifted lazily through the river. The moon hung low above him, and all around it the stars shone bright. He heard oars splashing in the water, and the faint sounds of shouting, but it all seemed so thin and distant. Suddenly, the river seemed to come to life. It was pulling fiercely at him, and suddenly he was moving faster. Drogo tightened his arms, unwilling to let either Primula or his boat go. Primula stayed by his side, but Drogo could see the boat slowly slipping from his grasp.

"The current's got him!" Merimac cried. "Pull, Sar, pull hard!" 

Saradoc hauled on the oars with all his might. The current in the Brandywine at ebb tide was powerful, and however strong a rower Saradoc might be, he was too small a creature to chase something that the river had in its power. He leaned forward, stretching his arms until he was sure his shoulders would separate from their sockets, then lay back in one smooth motion, drawing his arms tight to his chest, feeling the boat surge as he pushed the water with the oars. He was rowing as well as he had ever rowed in his life, and beside him his brother was throwing a loop of rope again and again, missing their small, moving target. The blood pounded in Saradoc's ears, but he could hear Merimac shouting over the roar.

"I can't reach him! Pull, Sar, he's getting away!"

The river flowed, with a silken, shimmering sound. It was suddenly all around Drogo's head, filling his eyes and his ears as it whirled him away. His last conscious thought was that he still had Primula, and that whatever was to come of him, she would be there.

"Drogo!" Merimac threw the rope one last time. The loop splashed into the water a hand's breadth from his uncle, and Drogo and Primula vanished beneath the surface of the river and did not rise again. 

Merimac slumped into his seat. Saradoc gave a few more strokes with the oars, and then he, too, gave up the pursuit. He maneuvered the boat around to the shelter of a small cove in the river, pulled in his oars and bent over them, screaming his grief, rage and exhaustion. Merimac remembered the long rope tethering them to Rory and the dock. He reached over and tugged at it. After a moment, the boat began to move. Merimac took the oars from his spent brother and sculled a little, to help Rory and Rufus hauling the rope. Slowly, the little boat returned to the dock. Rory helped Saradoc and Merimac out, and Rufus and Milo wrapped them in the blankets originally laid out for Primula and Drogo. The five men stared out at the river, which shone like silver in the moonlight. There was silence for a moment as they tried to absorb the sudden change in their world.

It was Rory who broke the silence. "We'll have to search the river in the morning," he said softly. "They can't have gotten much farther than half a mile, where the river bends. I'll send crews down there tomorrow to bring them back."

"We failed," Saradoc said.

"We did everything we could," Milo replied.

"It wasn't enough."

There was nothing more to be done, and the young men needed dry clothes and warm drinks. They secured the rescue boat and then walked back towards the bright lights and soaring music of Brandy Hall.

Menegilda was waiting at the door for them. She had seen them trudging up the hill without Primula or Drogo, and she knew that the worst had happened. Esme and Peony brought towels, and Menegilda took Rory in her arms, wordlessly sharing his grief over his littlest sister. After a moment, he pushed her away gently and turned to Milo and Peony.

"I'm sorry this had to happen tonight," he said. "It was supposed to be your special night, for both of you -- a birthday and a betrothal. I wish I didn't have to say this, but we can't continue with the party after this."

"I don't want any more party tonight, either, Uncle Rory," Milo said. "But can we just stop the dancing and send everyone home?"

"That's what we'll have to do," Rory said. "I'll explain it somehow. We'll just stop everything quietly. Someone should tell the family separately, though."

"You do that, Rory," Rufus Burrows suggested. "Gather them somewhere private and tell them. I'll deal with the musicians and the rest of the guests."

"It'll break Asphodel's heart," Rory said. "Primula was always her pet."

"All the better to hear it from her big brother, then," Rufus said.

Rory went first into the dance hall and quietly spread the word that his brothers and sisters and their wives and husbands should assemble in his study. After the little group had left, Rufus went to the musicians' dais and asked that the music be stopped. The guests were left in mid-dance, and began to murmur in confusion. Rufus stepped up to the dais and motioned for silence. Just as the talking stopped, a terrible shriek sounded from the study. Rufus winced.

"My good Hobbits," he began shakily. "Please accept my sincerest apologies. I regret to announce that we are ending the party early tonight. There has been a -- a sudden death in the family. My wife and her brothers and sisters are in seclusion at the moment and wish not to be disturbed. My son and Peony and I will assist you on your way out. Again, my sincerest apologies, and my deepest thanks for your presence at Milo's coming-of-age." Rufus stepped down from the dais and headed for the door as quickly as he could. The stunned crowd of party guests made way for him.

The announcement of death cast the expected pall over the departure. Parents stopped at the playroom, and Peony and Cady fetched the children one by one, taking care not to wake those children who would be staying the night in Brandy Hall for various reasons. Cady noticed the subdued, worried looks on the parents' faces and turned to Peony. "What happened?" he asked. "Are Uncle Drogo and Aunt Primula hurt?"

Peony refused to meet his eyes. "It's not my place to tell you, Cady," she said. "You should hear it from your Da and your uncles." She slipped into the playroom to fetch another child. Cady stared after her. He caught a glimpse of Frodo sleeping nestled between Carlo Burrows and one of the Hornblower twins, and he felt a cold knot of fear form deep in his stomach.

Milo stood by the door, bedraggled but dignified, to bid farewell to his guests. He stood for a long time and endured a hundred bewildered variations on "Congratulations and deepest condolences." Finally the last guest was gone. Milo sat down on the bench in the front hall and sank his head into his hands. He wanted to find Peony, he wanted his mother, but most of all, he wanted to go to sleep and wake up the next morning to find that the whole terrible event had just been a dream. 

"Milo?" The soft query pulled him out of his reverie. One of his younger Brandybuck cousins -- Cady, he remembered the lad's name was -- stood in one of the doorways. He looked frightened and confused, but also a little suspicious. Cady needed someone, too, Milo realized. He sighed.

"What is it, Cady?"

"Milo, do you know what's going on?" Cady asked. "Esme and Peony made me keep all the children shut in the playroom and run them around until they fell asleep, and they said there was an emergency with Uncle Drogo and Aunt Primula, and now the party's broken up, and no one will tell me what happened. Do you know? Will you tell me?"

Milo suddenly felt very old. He was thirty-three now, he realized. He was of age and would be expected to take care of people rather than be taken care of. He still wanted his mother, though, and he wondered if people ever really outgrew wanting their mothers. Fortunately, the solution to this problem was easy, as both his mother and Cady's were in the same room. He got to his feet and took Cady's hand.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go find our family. They'll tell you what's happened."

The two cousins went to the study, and Milo knocked softly on the door. After a moment, it opened a crack and Saradoc peeked out.

"Oh, Milo, it's you. Come in."

"I've got Cady with me. He's awfully frightened. No one told him what happened."

There was a short pause, and some hushed whispers from the study. After a moment, Saradoc opened the door wide. "Come in, both of you," he said.

The aunts and uncles and some of the grown-up cousins were gathered around Rory's writing desk. Rory sat at the desk, with Menegilda and Amaranth beside him. Asphodel lay on a couch, pale and sweaty, her head in Rufus's lap. Dinodas stood when they arrived.

"Cady, lad, come here," he said. Cady stood rooted to his spot.

"What happened?" he asked. "Where's Aunt Primula and Uncle Drogo?"

Rory sighed, suddenly looking every bit of his seventy-two years. "There's no way to break this gently, lad," he said. "They're dead."

"Dead?" Cady's face contorted in a mask of shock and disbelief. "How could they be dead?"

"They went out boating on the river," Rory said. "Something happened to the boat, and they drowned. We sent out a rescue party, but we didn't make it in time."

"But what about Fro -- oh. . . " Cady's voice trailed off. The adults traded uneasy looks. Esme took his hands.

"I'm sorry," she said. "There just wasn't time to tell you the whole story. We couldn't have Frodo running around and worrying while there was still a chance. You were a good lad to keep him busy, Cady. Thank you for that."

"What'll happen now?" Cady asked. There was another long adult silence.

"Frodo is asleep right now," Menegilda said, finally. "And he will remain asleep until morning. I won't have the child woken in the middle of the night for this news."

"I'll send out search crews tomorrow," Rory said. "As soon as it's light enough to see, we'll search the river until we find them. I don't want to tell Frodo anything until we have at least some idea what became of them. Cady, you've already done a hard task, and you've done as well as any grown Hobbit could do. I'm afraid I'll have to ask a little more of you. Will you take Frodo tomorrow? Keep him busy again, and far from the river?"

Dinodas nodded. "He adores you," he said. "He'd love to spend a morning playing with you."

"I'll help you," Esme added. "There won't be a party going on, so you won't be left alone again."

Cady gulped. Now he was glad that he hadn't known much about the emergency. He was already dreading the awful idea of spending the next morning playing, all the time knowing the truth about Primula and Drogo. "I'll do it," he said. "If Esme and Aunt Gilda will help me."

"Of course we will," Menegilda said. "The very first thing we will do is not wake Frodo up in the morning. The longer he sleeps, the easier our job will be."

"You're a good lad, Cady," Dinodas said. "I'm so proud of you." He held out his arms to his son, and Cady finally ran to his father. He was a tweenager, and far too old to cry, but he couldn't stop the tears that started to leak out of his eyes. "It's all right," Dinodas said. "We've all been crying like babies in here." He stroked Cady's hair just as if Cady were very small.

Rory sat back and massaged his temples. Breaking the news to Cady had been difficult, but it was good that they had done so now. They would have to tell Frodo sometime the next day, and they needed all the preparation they could get.


	4. Of These Infinite Spaces

**Of These Infinite Spaces **

As he had promised, Rory sent crews down to the river at dawn. They were to work in pairs, searching the riverbank for any sign of boat or body, and they carried horns to signal the other crews if they found anything. Saradoc and Merimac worked together, beginning their search at the point where they had lost Drogo and Primula the night before.

"How far do you think they got, Mer?" Saradoc asked. "Do you think the river carried them all the way out of the Shire?"

"I don't think so," Merimac said. "I think Da's right, that we'll find them somewhere in the river bend. We didn't get nearly that far before we lost them."

"It felt like forever," Saradoc said, rubbing sore shoulders. "It felt like I was rowing for a hundred years, and we still lost them. We failed."

"Not yet," Merimac said stoutly. "We can still find them. We can bring them home."

Frodo drifted peacefully awake. He found himself curled up against Carlo Burrows, partially pinned under Carlo's arm. He had been dreaming of long adventures out in the Wild, and now he was hungry. Carefully, he disentangled himself from Carlo and headed for the kitchen. Brandy Hall was quiet, and Frodo assumed that most of the adults were still sleeping, as was usual after big parties.

He was pleased to see Esme and Cady in the kitchen. Esme was kneading bread dough, and Cady seemed to be finishing breakfast. They both turned around at his approach and stared at him. "Good morning," he said sleepily. "May I have some breakfast?"

"Yes, of course, Frodo," Esme said quickly. "Cady, my hands are all floury. Can you help Frodo? There should be more scones in the pantry if you've eaten the ones in the basket, and there's jam and fresh butter, and the milk should be finished separating by now . . . " Cady was already up and running, depositing his dishes in the wash basin and fetching fresh ones from the cupboard for Frodo.

"Are you making bread, Esme?" Frodo asked. "Can I help?"

"No, Frodo," Esme said. "This is the last of the white bread. I'm making rye next, and you're not big enough to knead that. Besides, Cady wanted to take you out mushroom hunting today."

"Mushrooms!" Frodo cried. "Good, I like mushrooms. When do we leave?"

"As soon as you've eaten and washed up," Cady said, setting scones, butter and jam in front of Frodo. Frodo spread a scone thickly with jam and took a bite. 

"Cady?" he asked after a moment. "Should we wait for my Ma and Da so I can tell them we're going?"

Cady froze, a mug of fresh milk in his hand. A little too brightly, Esme came to his rescue. "Your Ma and Da aren't awake, Frodo," she said. "You go and have a good time with Cady. I'll take care of everything here."

Frodo glanced from Cady to Esme. They had a secret, he was sure, something they did not want to tell him. He would have to find out on his own. But that could wait, he decided. He took another big bite of scone and jam. There were mushrooms to be hunted.

It was almost noon when the horns started blowing. Rory and Bilbo looked at each other and felt their stomachs slide right down to their toes. Grimly, they turned and joined the other search teams moving toward the sound.

Milo and Rufus had spotted a flash of rich dark green and trailing lace among the weeds at the edge of the river bend. Quickly, the men formed chains hand to hand and sent Saradoc and Milo into the water to investigate. As they had hoped and feared, there was Primula, still clasped in Drogo's arm, caught on some fallen branches in the water. Saradoc and Milo gritted their teeth and gently freed the bodies. When they had finished, the search teams tenderly hauled Primula and Drogo up onto dry land. Merimac went tramping back to a clearing to fetch the pony cart they had brought out.

Rory bent over his sister's body and shivered, not just from the chill of the water. "Bilbo," he said softly. "Will you ride ahead to the Hall? Find Menegilda and the ladies and -- and ask them to summon the gravediggers."

"You're going to bury them here?" Bilbo asked.

Rory nodded. "I wish there was more time to notify Drogo's family, but . . . they're not in any condition to wait while we send the message. They'll have to be buried at Brandy Hall by tomorrow at the latest. We've got plenty of room for them in our burying ground. I'll send letters to Hobbiton tomorrow explaining everything."

Bilbo was silent for a moment. "You're right," he said. "Bury them here and write the letters. I'll leave tomorrow and deliver them personally."

"Thank you," Rory said. Bilbo laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then went off to find his tethered pony. Rory turned back to the bodies. Something about Primula's dress seemed odd, and he discovered that her pockets were full of pebbles. He remembered how much she had loved to collect pretty river stones as a child and had to turn away lest he break down completely.

It had been a lovely day. In addition to the big basket of mushrooms they had collected, Cady and Frodo had visited a few chestnut trees along the road and spent some time sitting among the red-gold leaves carefully prying the nuts out of the prickly cases. Cady had seemed distracted for a good portion of the day, but when Frodo asked him about it, he would only say that he had been tired from keeping up with the children the night before. Frodo wasn't entirely sure he believed that. He would ask Cady that night while they were roasting the chestnuts.

Cady seemed to be walking slower and slower as they neared Brandy Hall. Frodo, who was impatient for fried mushrooms and roasted chestnuts, skipped ahead. He passed the fence that marked the Brandybuck burying ground, a pleasant place where the family held a picnic every year to clean and decorate the graves. Suddenly, he stopped short and stared at the activity he could see in the far corner of the burying ground.

"Cady, look!" Frodo called. "There's gravediggers out there. Who's died?"

Cady stopped short on the road and stared at Frodo, his mouth open as if to speak, but no words came out. Frodo looked at his cousin in shock. Cady had never before refused to answer one of his questions. Even more terrible was the look on Cady's face. Guilt, fear and grief were plastered there for all the world to see. All the odd looks and comments of the past day and night flooded back into Frodo's mind as he looked from Cady to the freshly dug graves and back again. Panic welled up in him, and he turned and ran for Brandy Hall as fast as he could, crying "Ma! Ma!"

"Frodo!" Cady yelled. He dropped the mushroom basket and started after Frodo. "Frodo, slow down!"

Frodo heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart as he crashed through the front door. Forgetting that children weren't allowed to run in the smial, he charged through the corridor to the banquet hall, where he had last seen his parents. He heard his name being called, but he didn't stop until he reached the banquet hall. He burst in and was brought up short by the sight of two shrouded bodies laid out in coffins on makeshift biers. "Ma!" he screamed, and then Cousin Bilbo was in front of him, picking him up as though he were five instead of twelve and carrying him out of the room as Frodo clung to him and stared at the corpses in horror.

"Frodo, you shouldn't have seen that," Bilbo said softly. He set Frodo down and steered him into Rory's study, where Rory and Menegilda were preparing to tell Frodo about his parents' deaths.

As he listened to Rory's slow, sad voice, Frodo felt hot all over, and then cold and prickly. The blood roared in his ears, and Rory's voice seemed to be coming from very far away. The voice talked about how his parents had drowned in the Brandywine River the night before and would be buried the next morning. Frodo would always have a place at Brandy Hall, and he would always have family who loved him very much --

"I want to see them," Frodo blurted suddenly. Rory and Menegilda exchanged a look. "I do," Frodo insisted. "Maybe you're wrong. Maybe it isn't them. I have to be sure."

"No, Frodo," Rory said quietly. "Those bodies aren't very nice to look at, not after spending a night and a morning in the water. Believe me, I helped pull them out. I assure you, those bodies are indeed your parents."

"They can't die," Frodo said. "My Ma just got better from -- from Bluebell. It's not fair!"

"No, Frodo," Bilbo said. "It's not fair. Nobody said it was fair. It's just what happened."

"It's not fair," Frodo protested once more. He lay down on the couch and wriggled around so that he couldn't see anyone. All of a sudden, he didn't want to look at them, and he didn't want to feel their eyes on him. He felt very little, caught up in events that were much too big for him. He didn't know at all what he should say or think or do, and he didn't want to have to find out. 

After a few minutes of silence, Menegilda glided over to the couch and pushed Frodo upright. "I know it's early," she said, "but I do believe that food and sleep will be the best mender now. You'll have a long day tomorrow." She helped him to his feet and led him out of the study.

Later on, Frodo remembered very little of that awful time, and much of that memory was hazy and dreamlike. He remembered seeing Cady in the hall, sitting on the floor with his head in Uncle Dino's lap, crying bitterly, and for some reason, the idea of Cady acting like that terrified him. Menegilda's strong, capable hands prodded him toward the kitchen, where a plate of fried mushrooms was put in front of him. Frodo ate them absently, listening to snatches of conversation happening somewhere above his head.

" . . . in shock, poor thing . . . running home . . . saw the bodies . . . make up the old truckle bed for him . . . after the funeral . . . cross that bridge . . . "

Someone gave him a mug, and he drank a little, recoiling at the bitterness.

"Drink it, Frodo," a woman said. "It's just chamomile." Frodo tried to turn his head away, but the mug followed him, and he drank the whole bitter cup. Gentle hands led him out of the kitchen and took him to a straw tick that had been made up into a bed for him. His clothes were stripped from his body, and someone handed him a clean nightshirt. Menegilda was sitting in an old rocking chair, and the last thing Frodo heard before he drifted off to sleep was the soft squeaking of the chair and Menegilda's low humming.

Going to the funeral the next morning was the hardest thing Frodo had ever had to do. Wearing his party best clothes, which had been washed the night before, Frodo followed his parents' coffins out to the burying ground. He sat next to Aunt Menegilda, breathing her faint lavender scent, as Uncle Rory spoke for what seemed like a long time. He wished he could have a glimpse of whatever was under the shrouds, half certain it wouldn't be his parents. How could it be his parents? Drogo and Primula had been perfectly healthy and happy at the party. Parents couldn't just die.

Menegilda's hand tightened on his shoulder. Rory had asked everyone to stand and sing. Frodo stood and opened his mouth, but his throat had closed up and no sound came out. There was a roaring in his ears, and he barely heard the slow harmonies all around him. He stared at the two polished pine coffins, each draped with a fall of black cloth. On Primula's, someone had pinned the little brooch shaped like a yellow rose that Milo had just given her. The day was bright and sunny, but there was a crispness to the air. The ground would freeze soon, locking his Ma and Da away from him for good.

The singing ended, and everyone stood for a long, silent moment as the coffins were lowered into the graves. Then Rory picked up a shovel and solemnly threw earth in each grave. Menegilda prodded Frodo, and he stepped forward. Rory handed him the shovel. Frodo stared at it, not wanting to move. If he threw earth on his parents' coffins, it would be almost like admitting that they were really dead.

"Go on, Frodo," Rory said quietly.

Frodo realized that everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to do his part. He could feel all the eyes, and he wished that a third grave would open and swallow him right up. But no third grave appeared, and the eyes were still there. Frodo took a deep breath and marched to the pile of earth. It was over quickly. One shovelful fell on his father's coffin, and another fell on his mother's, burying the yellow rose brooch forever. Frodo threw the shovel to the ground and hurried to Rory's side. Rory wrapped an arm around his nephew's shoulders and together they watched the rest of the family bury their dead.

Bilbo left for Hobbiton shortly after the small cold luncheon. He promised Frodo that his Baggins relations in Hobbiton would not forget him and that he would be hearing from them shortly. Then he mounted his small bay pony and rode off down the road.

Rory and his brothers went to Rory's study. Frodo tried to follow them, but Menegilda restrained him.

"Not now, Frodo," she said. "They've got important grown-up business to discuss. They need some quiet right now."

Frodo went into the orchard, but he didn't feel like shaking fruit trees. He wandered back into the house and tried to play with some of the younger cousins, but the games seemed forced and awkward. He thought of going to the kitchen to help cook dinner, but then he remembered his plans to teach Drogo to cook, and he didn't want to go into the kitchen any more. Perhaps his older cousins might be doing something interesting. Frodo wasn't sure he wanted to see Cady, who had been crying so frighteningly the night before, so he went to look for Milo.

Milo was pleasant and polite and told Frodo some stories about Primula, which made him feel strange. It seemed almost rude to be learning about her life before she'd had Frodo now that she was dead. Peony got down on the floor and played tiddlywinks with him for a while, but Frodo could see that her heart wasn't in it. Finally Peony sighed.

"I'm sorry, Frodo," she said. "We aren't really very good company, are we?"

Frodo shrugged, not wanting to commit either way.

"Truth to tell, we're all a bit worried about Ma," Milo explained. "Auntie Primula was her favorite sister, and she's been a nervous wreck all day. We hadn't even planned on staying after the funeral, but then Da said he hadn't the heart to take her back to Pincup and away from her family so soon. She's sleeping right now, and the rest of us are just waiting."

"That's all right," Frodo said. "I guess I'm just waiting, too." He sat and waited with Milo and Peony for a while. Asphodel didn't appear, and eventually Milo fell asleep in the armchair. 

"I won't wake him," Peony said, as she tucked a blanket around him. "He didn't sleep at all well last night. He kept having nightmares. I think he was dreaming about being at the dock. It must have been a terrible thing to watch. I guess he just wants to avoid thinking about it, so he sleeps a little during the day."

"I don't want to think about it, either," Frodo said. "Maybe I should go and sleep." He took a step toward the door, then stopped and turned back to Peony. "I'm sorry about your party," he said and hugged her.

She choked a little. "No, Frodo," she said shakily. "We can always have another party. But there won't be another Primula and Drogo." Frodo didn't want to see Peony cry, so he left the room.

Under the watchful eyes of his brothers, Rory opened a strong oak box with a small brass key. It was the Brandybuck deed box, and it contained, among other things, the family wills. Primula's will was there, as was a copy of Drogo's. The final execution of Drogo's will would have to wait until Drogo's next of kin could be notified and a meeting arranged, but the Brandybucks could read Primula's will and execute those parts which did not depend on the Bagginses.

Both wills seemed to be made out properly, each with the proper seven signatures in red ink. Primula's will began with the disposal of her money, which went to Frodo, as everyone expected. As Frodo was still a minor, Primula had assigned the Master of Buckland, whoever that might be, to keep the money until he came of age. She had also specified where in the house the money was kept. Rory and his brothers nodded. It was very like Primula to remember to include that little bit of information to save her family the trouble of tearing her house apart.

The next item in the will was the distribution of Primula's personal property. She had listed several specific small items first which were to go to various members of her family as mementos. Primula had left her silver tea service to Asphodel and her family, and their brothers were silent for a moment, dreading breaking that news to Asphodel. That particular tea service had been a wedding present from their mother, and Asphodel had helped Mirabella go through some of the Took family antiques to choose something suitable to pass on to Primula. They let themselves be absorbed by the memory of their sister's wedding for a few moments, and did not notice when the door opened just a crack and Frodo peered in.

The next item in the will was major property and land. Rory squinted at Primula's small, neat script in the dimming light. A wooded section was willed to Saradoc, which was no surprise, as that particular parcel of land was one of the family heirlooms. The item after that, the house, was not an heirloom. Primula had bought that house when she had married Drogo.

"'The house at Number Seven Oldbuck Way,'" Rory read, "will be passed to Drogo Baggins, my husband; or, should I survive him, to that man that may be my husband, or to my son Frodo Baggins if he should be of age. Should I die a widow, and Frodo be not yet of age, the house will be sold, and the proceeds of the sale kept in trust for Frodo until he comes of age.'" There was a sudden click at the door, and the Brandybuck brothers looked up. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they continued to read the will.

The news that his house was to be sold jolted Frodo out of his lethargy. To lose first a sister and then both parents within a few months was bad enough, but now it seemed that Uncle Rory meant to turn him out of his home. Frodo realized that he had not been home since the day of the party, and he was suddenly terrified that the little house had vanished along with his parents. Without even stopping to tell anyone where he was going, he headed straight for the door. In a panic, he wrenched it open and ran all the way down the road to his home.

Fortunately, it was still there. It hadn't vanished yet, and if Frodo had anything to say about it, it wasn't going anywhere. Frodo ran inside, flung himself down on his own bed and pulled the covers over his head. Drogo was dead, and he was the master of this house now, and it was his responsibility to see that it stayed right where it was.


	5. Is Terrifying To Me

**Is Terrifying To Me **

Finally, Rory had come to the last and most important part of Primula's will. This part would be tricky to execute, as it depended on the execution of Drogo's will as well. Primula had stated that, with Drogo's agreement, should they both die before Frodo came of age, he was to be cared for "by his nearest relatives."

Rory and his brothers sat back and looked at each other. Usually Primula was a very precise writer, but they had to admit that they were slightly puzzled by that phrase. Dinodas tried to remember as much as he could about the Baggins family. 

"Drogo has a niece, doesn't he?" he asked.

"Dudo's daughter," Dodinas said. "I knew Dudo when we were lads. I remember he wrote to me when Daisy was born." Dodinas counted on his fingers for a moment. "She isn't quite of age yet," he said, "and I can't imagine that Dudo would want to start over with another child now that his is nearly grown."

"Dora?" Saradas asked. The other three shook their heads.

"Dora means well," Dodinas said. "But I don't think she really likes children much, for all that she tries to tell people how to raise them."

"Perhaps Primula meant for us to keep Frodo here, at Brandy Hall," Rory suggested. "After all, we are not only very near relatives, but we have been nearby all his life."

"He wouldn't have to move out of Buckland that way," Dinodas said. "He's lost so much already, he shouldn't have to leave all his friends behind, too. He just adores my Cady, and I think Cady would like to have him around for a while longer."

"Esme's taken rather an interest in him, too," Rory agreed. "I agree, his people are here, and he should stay here, at least for now. When we talk Drogo's will over with the Bagginses, we'll make it official, but I can't imagine they'd object to Frodo staying with us, at least for a few more years."

"You could put him in Saradoc and Merimac's old room," Saradas said. 

"Oh, no," Rory said. "I'm not putting him anywhere. Menegilda will want to see to that herself. Speaking of which, we should go break the news to the lovely ladies."

The brothers Brandybuck stood. Rory carefully laid Primula's will away in the oak deed box and locked it. He nodded, and the foursome went in search of the Mistress of Buckland.

Menegilda was holding court in the main kitchen, rocking baby Berry with grandmotherly assurance. Nina was taking advantage of her mother-in-law's help to work idly on some mending. Esme was listlessly chopping vegetables and rabbits for a stew. It had been a long afternoon. There had been housework to do, but none of the women had felt much like doing it, and only the most basic and unavoidable of chores had gotten done. Esme felt a twinge of guilt about the dust gathering in some of the far corners of the kitchen, and she knew of several beds left unmade, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up a broom or smooth a quilt. Menegilda had not objected. Sweeping and dusting and bedmaking could wait until later.

A clanking from the cool pantry told them that Merimac and Cady had come in from the milking and were setting the milk to separate. Usually Esme or Nina would remind them to scald the milk pails afterward, but the routine words stuck in their throats. It didn't seem to matter much; Cady trotted in and retrieved the kettle without needing the reminder.

A soft tread at the doorway made them look up. Asphodel walked into the room on Peony's arm and made her way to one of the benches at the kitchen table. She sat down slowly, as if she had aged ten years during the night. Peony looked around the kitchen.

"Have you a mug of water?" she asked Esme.

"Not water," Menegilda said, glancing at Asphodel. "Esme, do show Peony where the special bottle of cordial is. Just a little," she added as Esme held the cordial bottle above the mug. Esme dribbled a little of the potent liquor into the mug and handed it to Peony, who set it in front of Asphodel. Asphodel took a sip and seemed to revive a little.

"It's funny," she said after a while. "All these years I was living in Pincup and Primmy was here, we'd go for months without seeing her. And I never worried, and I didn't mourn, for I had my own family to think about. But now she's really and truly gone, and I'll never see her whether I'm in Pincup or here, and it makes me so terrible lonely."

"We're all lonely, Del," Menegilda said. "I wonder if we shall ever truly get used to it." The women considered the question in silence.

"May we join you?" Rory, Saradas, Dodinas and Dinodas walked into the kitchen. Rory kissed Menegilda and tickled Berry a little.

"How did the reading go?" Menegilda asked.

"As well as to be expected," Rory said. "There weren't any big surprises. Most of the will was separate from Drogo's, so we can execute it immediately." He turned to Asphodel and put a hand on her arm. "Primmy wanted you to have her silver tea service," he said gently.

Asphodel stared at him, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. She quickly turned away and covered by taking another sip of cordial. "The tea service," she said softly. "I might have known. Primmy was so proud of that tea service. I helped Ma pick it out myself, and I polished it up bright for her. I remember, whenever I visited Primmy, she'd always make an excuse to keep me until tea-time, and we'd have our tea out of that silver." Saradas sat down across from his sister and took her hands. "Why did Primmy have to die?" Asphodel asked softly.

No one could make an answer to that, and silence fell again. Rory closed his eyes, and he could see himself by the riverbank again, staring at the wet, drowned bodies of his baby sister and her husband. All of a sudden, he remembered the rocks in Primula's pockets. She had loved to collect river stones as a little child, but he couldn't remember her ever doing so after she grew up. He wondered why her pockets had been filled with stones when they found her. There were rather a lot of them, and they had weighted her dress down so. . . a horrible suspicion began to grow in Rory's mind. It was a terrible thing to think of one's sister, but Rory could not deny that it fitted. After all, the river hadn't been that treacherous, and Primula was good in boats. Perhaps Drogo had bravely, but foolishly, gone in after her. In all the fuss of the rescue attempts and the recovery, no one had thought to ask how Primula and Drogo had fallen into the river in the first place.

Rory sternly tried to banish such thoughts from his mind. It wasn't a proper thing to accuse any Hobbit of, especially when one had no better proof than two pockets full of pretty river pebbles. And yet the treacherous idea kept worming its way back in. Primula had suffered a terrible shock recently with Bluebell, and she'd been so terribly sick afterward. But he'd seen her dancing at the party, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling. Could Primula have fooled them all? The question would worry Rory for many years to come. However, having no proof and not wanting to cast a shadow on his sister's memory, he would never share his suspicions with a living soul, not even Menegilda.

"What is to become of Frodo?" Esme's soft question pulled Rory back to the present. He harrumphed a little to cover his woolgathering.

"The will said that he was to live with his nearest relatives," Saradas said. "We talked it over amongst ourselves, and we decided that she meant him to stay here in Brandy Hall."

"How about that, Gilda?" Rory asked. "Would you be up to taking your nephew in?"

"Would I be up to it?" Menegilda sputtered. "Why, that's the first sensible thing that's happened since the party. Of course he'll come to live here. Where else would he go, that poor boy?"

"I thought you'd say that," Rory said.

"Can we really keep him?" Esme asked excitedly. "But what about the Bagginses?"

"The Bagginses won't be prepared to take the child in on a moment's notice," Menegilda declared. "And why should he be moved all the way to Hobbiton, for goodness' sake? Saradoc, Merimac!" she called.

Saradoc and Merimac appeared at the window, still in their work smocks. Cady wandered in from the yard and stood just at the doorway. "What is it, Ma?" Merimac asked.

"When you're finished with the chores, will you please go and set up a bedstead in your old room for Frodo? He'll have that room for his own now, seeing as how you've both got your own quarters in this smial."

"What do you think of that, Cady?" Dinodas asked. "Your favorite little cousin is going to come live here for good."

"I'd like that a lot, Da," Cady said with a broad smile. "I'll help take care of him, Aunt Gilda."

"I'm counting on that," Menegilda replied. "Now then, let us tell Frodo the good news. Where is the lad?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I thought I saw him wandering around the orchard earlier," Saradoc said. "He wasn't really doing anything, and he left after a while. I'd have thought he'd be here in the kitchen cooking with you, Esme."

"He stopped by," Esme said, "and I asked him if he wanted to help with something, and he said he didn't feel like cooking. I asked him if he wanted something to eat, and he didn't want that, either. Then he wandered off, and I haven't seen him since."

"He was in our quarters about an hour ago," Peony offered. "Milo and I tried to play with him, but then Milo fell asleep, and Frodo left. I don't know where he went. I didn't see him when we came to the kitchen."

Dinodas turned to Cady. "Cady, have you seen Frodo?" he asked. "He's always tagging after you."

"No," Cady said, puzzled. "I haven't seen him all day. I was out doing chores for a long time, though."

"Well, let's go look," Rory said. "There's only so many places a lad can hide in this smial. He's probably holed up in a wardrobe somewhere." The family quickly dispersed, calling and searching and enlisting the aid of other relatives. 

After half an hour, it became clear that Frodo was not to be found in Brandy Hall. Esme and Saradoc ran down to the river in a panic, but saw no sign that any lad had been there recently. They reported this to the family with a mixture of relief and anxiety.

"I should have assigned someone to keep an eye on him," Menegilda scolded herself. "A fine lot of guardians we'll make."

"We'll do fine once we find him," Rory assured her. "We're all still torn up ourselves, you know."

"Still," Menegilda persisted, "Frodo's only twelve, and he's in a very bad state right now. Who knows what he might have gotten up to?" 

"If it were me, I'd want to crawl into my bed and stay there for a week," Cady said, returning from the root cellar. He paused, and an idea glimmered in his mind. "Hold on," he said. "That's it! I think I know where Frodo went!" He sprinted toward the door, but Rory caught his arm.

"Where are you off to, lad?"

"I'm going to get Frodo," Cady said. "He went home, I just know he did."

"Go find out," Rory said and released Cady.

Cady trotted down the road until he came to the little house. It was cold and dark and looked distinctly unpromising. Cady knocked at the door anyway. "Frodo!" he called. "Frodo, are you in there? It's me, Cady." 

There was no answer. Cady tried the door and found it unlocked. He wandered through the house, everything still and neat, exactly the way Drogo and Primula had left it. The milk in the kitchen was growing lumpy, and green fuzz had sprouted on the bread. Cady hoped that Frodo hadn't thought to eat any of the spoiled food. In the master bedroom, Primula's hairbrush still lay on the night table, a few stray hairs caught among the bristles. Cady opened the wardrobe and batted the dresses around, but no Hobbit lad was hiding among them. Frodo's bedroom was the only untidy place in the house. The bed was rumpled, as if someone had used it recently. Cady threw back the covers, but the bed was empty. However, the rumpled bed did seem to prove that someone had been at the house recently, and that thought encouraged Cady. 

He went back into the kitchen. While he was contemplating the green fuzz on the bread, he became aware of noise from the garden. It sounded like faint shouting, and Cady went outside to investigate. The garden was large, but Cady followed the sounds of the shouts, which became louder and angrier as he got nearer. Finally, down past the beehive, Cady found Frodo.

Frodo had one of his father's umbrellas, and was furiously beating and slashing at Bluebell's grave and the flowers surrounding it. Most of the flower heads and quite a bit of foliage from surrounding bushes lay at his feet. "I hate you!" he yelled. "I hate you, Bluebell! It's all your fault that Ma was so sick. Well, she's dead, and you won! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" He slashed the umbrella through the flowerbeds, and a few more mums fell at his feet.

"Frodo, what are you doing?" Cady cried. He hurried over to his enraged cousin and tore the umbrella out of his hands. "What are you ruining those flowers for? Those are your mother's flowers."

"No they're not!" Frodo declared. "They're Bluebell's flowers, and I hate her."

"How can you hate Bluebell? She's just a little dead baby."

Frodo sniffled a little. "She took my Ma and Da away."

Cady frowned in confusion. At least Frodo had calmed down enough to talk. "How did she do that?"

"Ma loved her more than me," Frodo explained. "When she was expecting, all she could talk about was the new baby. And then after Bluebell came, she got sick, and she forgot all about me. And all Da could think about was Ma. You an' Esme were the only ones that remembered me. And then Ma got better, and I thought maybe she'd start to love me again, and then she and Da went away and died! They're dead, Cady! Dead just like Bluebell! And now I haven't got a Ma, nor a Da, and Uncle Rory said he was going to take the house away, and I haven't got anything left, and it's all Bluebell's fault!" The last words dissolved into a wail. Frodo dropped to his knees and sat choking and hiccuping.

Cady was paralyzed with fear. He wished desperately that an adult would come to his rescue, someone who would know what to do with the angry, grieving child who was falling apart before his eyes. It wasn't fair, Cady thought. He'd made such a mess of taking care of Frodo already, and now Frodo had run away and had torn up the garden, and the only person there to do anything about it was Cady.

Frodo's hiccups grew louder, and he scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes. It wasn't fair, Cady knew, but there were no adults around. No one would come to help him. He was on his own with Frodo. There was only one thing Cady could think to do, and he did it. He knelt down beside Frodo and pulled his cousin into his arms.

Frodo struggled for a moment more, and then his hiccups gave way to wails, and he was crying all the tears that he hadn't cried since learning of Primula and Drogo's deaths. Cady held him awkwardly at first, then relaxed as his own tears started to come. They sat together until Frodo had cried himself out and lay with his head in Cady's lap, gasping and shuddering a little. Cady reached in his pocket, but as usual, he had misplaced his handkerchief. He settled instead for brushing Frodo's tears away with his hands.

"Cady?" Frodo mumbled.

"What is it?"

"I didn't mean what I said about Bluebell. I don't really hate her."

"I know," Cady said. "I'm glad you don't really hate her. After all, it's not really fair to blame her."

"I suppose." Frodo sat up, and his tear-streaked face shone in the fading light. "But whose fault is it, then? Did I do something bad?"

Cady shook his head. "No, Frodo," he said. "You didn't do anything bad. I don't think it's anyone's fault, really. I think. . . I think that sometimes, bad things just happen. And it's no one's fault. It's just an accident. There's good accidents, and there's bad accidents, and this was a bad accident."

"It's not fair," Frodo insisted.

"No," Cady agreed. "It's not. But you've still got something left, Frodo."

"What have I got?"

Cady smiled. "You've got all of us," he said. "You've got Uncle Rory and Aunt Gilda, you've got Esme and Saradoc and Merimac and Nina and all your aunts and uncles and cousins. . . you've even got me."

Frodo flashed a smile, but quickly grew serious. "But Cady. . . I heard Uncle Rory. I don't think I was supposed to, but I did hear. He said he was going to sell my house. I don't want that. I want my house to stay here, with my bed and my room and my toys and my glass from Cousin Bilbo. I don't want to have to go away and live under a tree."

Cady laughed. "Frodo, did that scare you?" he asked. Frodo nodded. "Well, he didn't mean it like that. He'll have to sell the house, but you can keep all your things. I came looking for you to tell you what Uncle Rory wants to do with you."

"What?"

"He thought you should come and live in Brandy Hall with the rest of us. All your clothes and books and toys can come, too. Would you like to come live in Brandy Hall with me?"

"Who would take care of me?"

"We'd all take care of you, Frodo. You could have your lessons with the rest of the little cousins, and you and I could go walking whenever we wanted. Would you like that?"

Frodo considered the offer. "I think I'd like that very much," he said solemnly.

Cady looked equally solemn. "Good. I wouldn't want to see my favorite little cousin have to go live under a tree." Frodo smiled and threw his arms around Cady. Then he pulled away and surveyed the damaged garden.

"But Cady, what about the garden?" he asked. "I didn't mean to ruin it, but I don't think anyone could fix it."

Cady examined some of the abused plants. "I don't think it's that bad, Frodo," he said at last. "Look, you just ripped the leaves a little. The bluebell bulbs are still safe. If you'd like, we can dig them up, and they can move to Brandy Hall with you."

"Could we take them?" Frodo asked. "I think I'd like to have them."

"Then we'll come and get them in the morning," Cady said. "Is there anything else you want to take with you?"

Frodo stood up and looked around. "That bush," he said, pointing to a neatly pruned rosebush that had borne glorious deep pink roses in the summer. "That's Ma's favorite rosebush. Can I take that, too?"

Cady inspected the bush. It looked healthy and was reasonably compact. "I think we could get Saradoc to help us dig it up and take it in his wheelbarrow," he said. "And I'm sure Aunt Gilda would let you have a bit of flowerbed. You can plant the rosebush and put the bluebells all around it."

"Let's do that," Frodo said. 

"Tomorrow," Cady told him. "Tonight you need to come back home with me. The whole family's been worried sick about you."

"Really?"

"Really. They're your family, too, Frodo, and they love you."

Cady was rewarded with a real smile from Frodo. Frodo slipped his grubby hand into Cady's, and together they walked back up the hill to Brandy Hall, where the lights burned in the windows to welcome them home.

END

****

Afterword

Deepest thanks to all who have read and enjoyed this story. Whether or not you agreed with the choices of some of the characters, I do hope you found the story interesting.

Before I go any further, I do feel obliged to mention something. Primula's illness, postpartum depression, is a real and very serious problem that afflicts a small percentage of mothers (even those whose children survive). It is not "the baby blues." It is an aspect of depression, a crippling and potentially fatal mental illness. Postpartum depression is treatable, and should be treated every bit as vigorously as other forms of depression, as it has the same fatality rate from the same cause, suicide. That the suicide may stem from irrational thought processes does not make it any less of a danger.

Okay, I'm off the soapbox for now. One person was of the opinion that no Hobbit would consider suicide because Frodo, who had objective cause to be suicidal, did not do so. I'm not entirely convinced this is true. I think Frodo's fate is a bit of a red herring; he knew for certain, as so many suicides do not, that he had a way out of his misery. He could go to Valinor. I'm not going to debate the morality of suicide here -- I certainly don't support it, but I don't feel that I have the right to condemn it, for many reasons -- but I do think that Tolkien created in Hobbits a race of deep feeling and some psychological complexity. Everyone has a different breaking point, and Primula and Frodo are no different from anyone else in that respect.

End of heavy stuff. Thank you once again for reading. I'll see you later.


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